


I don't mind, if you don't mind

by richie-tozier-is-my-eboy (HiKidsDoYouLikeViolence)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Coming In Pants, First Kiss, First Time, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25735231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiKidsDoYouLikeViolence/pseuds/richie-tozier-is-my-eboy
Summary: When it happens the first time, it’s two o’clock in the morning and they’re bickering over whose taking what side of the bedBefore Richie and Eddie even have a grasp on what's happening, teenage hormones have things out of control.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 258





	I don't mind, if you don't mind

**Author's Note:**

> a un-beta'd ficlet bc i couldn't get this out my head

When it happens the first time, it’s two o’clock in the morning and they’re bickering over whose taking what side of the bed.

Usually Richie would have gotten out the camping cot, which Went had been periodically reminding him to fetch from the basement every few hours since Eddie had arrived, but they predictably got wrapped up in the newest Batman issue, in debating which SNL skit had been the funniest last week, in playing on Richie’s NES, that before Richie knows it, the house is still and it’s pitch black outside.

Eddie wants the side facing the wall, claimed Richie would kick him out of the bed if he didn’t get it, but Richie wants the side Eddie wants, too, although his reasoning has more to do with him being a shit-stirring little gremlin than actually wanting it.

Their hushed squabbles had quickly become moderate smacks, and the moderate smacks had quickly escalated into full-blown wrestling, Eddie determinedly squirming to get to where he wanted to be. Richie had so far blocked his every path with delighted snickers, Eddie becoming more and more infuriated, forced to keep quiet.

“Richie!” hisses Eddie, his button nose scrunched up in that adorable way it does when he’s getting riled up over something silly.

“Eddie,” sings back Richie, almost cooing.

“Move, you asshole!” Eddie lurches forward to try and clamber over him.

Richie grabs both Eddie’s wrists with a choked guffaw in response, fights to keep him back. He can practically see the steam coming out both of Eddie’s ears as he goes to kneel Richie in the stomach.

Richie swiftly lays Eddie out on his back. “Nuh, uh, uh, Spagheds,” he tuts. “My bed, my rules-”

His teasing dries up in an instant when he sees the startled expression on Eddie’s face. The position is not what Richie had intended it to be; Eddie’s wrists pinned down, his legs flayed open under Richie’s weight, the pair a hairbreadth away from being nose-to-nose. 

Richie swallows. He’s about to sit up and joke the whole thing off when Eddie’s mouth is suddenly on his. 

Richie jolts in surprise and Eddie jolts back too, wide-eyed.

They measure one another in deafening silence, both unsure of what it meant, of how to react, so neither of them says anything for a long while. 

Richie is the one to shift back in experimentally, but pauses before he does anything, watching Eddie closely.

Eddie doesn’t move. His chest is rising and falling fast, but he doesn’t seem panicked, just conflicted, a mirror image of Richie’s own feelings.

Richie licks his lips, hovers over Eddie’s, gives him ample time to pull away before he meets them once more. The pair of them watch one another as he does it. It isn’t a kiss, not really, just a simple, chaste press of their mouths before Richie’s retreating.

They examine each other again.

Eddie’s hand slips downwards to rest against the side of Richie’s neck and Richie reshifts on his elbows.

Richie moves back in, a little further downwards this time, to Eddie’s throat. Eddie doesn’t stop him, doesn’t say anything, so Richie lets his lips find his skin, another chaste, simple press.

Eddie shivers. Richie isn’t sure what it means but it’s enough to have him hardening in his pants.

Richie actually kisses his neck this time. It’s still gentle, still soft, but a real kiss, an undeniable thing, puckered and warm where it meets skin. Both Eddie’s hands move to Richie’s shoulder blades, take grip of his shirt.

This emboldens Richie. He kisses again, firmer, surer, and Eddie sighs in response, so he kisses him there again, and again, and again.

Eddie makes a little _hngh_ noise in the back of his throat, drags Richie up to recapture his mouth.

It’s all that’s needed to set Richie’s bottled adoration for Eddie free. He can barely believe what’s happening is happening, but it _is_ happening, it’s happening right now and Richie is beside himself with burning, all-consuming want as they find one another.

His eyes slip shut with ease. Eddie’s arms wind secure around his neck and Richie sneaks a hand beneath Eddie to support the small of his back, which Eddie seems to like, pulls Richie in closer.

Richie’s glasses start to slip so he abandons them the first place his hand can reach, his heart pumping away violently.

Eddie’s lips are supple and Richie wants more of them, wants to find out how they taste, so he drags a broad lap of his tongue across them before he can think too deeply about it. Eddie gasps and shoots back. Richie is frightened he’s gone too far, but before he’s able to stammer an apology, Eddie gives a tentative lick back.

It isn’t what Richie expected and he breaks out into a grin. Eddie smiles back, albeit a little more sheepishly, his cheeks as red as Richie’s face feels, at least from what Richie can see through the fuzziness.

They melt back into one another and soon their mouths are sliding slick.

Eddie grows bolder the longer they’re at it, tasting the inside of Richie’s mouth with a fervour he would have never imagined, his tongue red hot and invasive in all the right ways. Richie cannot get enough.

In no time at all, Eddie’s legs are tilting open just that little bit further and Richie’s body chases between the gap instinctively, his hips rolling forward without his permission.

Eddie gasps, Richie moans, and they both freeze.

Richie is panting. He’s trembling with how much he aches for Eddie and can feel Eddie’s shaking, too. That this, whatever it is, is mutual. That they’re in the same boat. That Eddie is a willing participant.

Eddie’s arms unwind, releasing Richie who shifts back up onto his elbows to get a better look at his friend. Eddie’s breaths have become just as spaced and shallow as his own, his lips sucked red and plump, pupils blown-out.

Richie wants to tell him how sexy he looks but his trash mouth is too tongue-tied.

Then Eddie suddenly bucks upwards off the mattress, meets Richie with a firm thrust of his own.

“Fuck,” pants Richie at the contact, in disbelief.

Eddie bites his bottom lip, big eyes burning straight into Richie’s retinas as he rolls up into him for a second time.

“ _Holy fuck.”_ Richie doesn’t have to be asked again. He gets the memo, understands what Eddie wants, which is exactly what he wants, too. He buries his face against Eddie’s neck, takes two big handfuls of Eddie’s hips, and absolutely goes to fucking town.

It’s a bittersweet kind of friction but Richie is invested, grinds against Eddie with a primal drive he had no idea he possessed.

Eddie must be in the same boat, too, because he’s giving back what Richie’s putting in, rocking back against him with just as much enthusiasm, puffing out these sweet grunts and groans under his breath that go directly into Richie’s ear and straight to his cock.

Richie is unable to help himself from sneaking a hand between them. He can feel Eddie’s heat immediately, how hard he is beneath the flimsy fabric. He rubs circles and Eddie cries out, shudders.

He wants to undress him but he’s much too cowardly to do it, keeps his face hidden away, mouths Eddie’s neck instead to try and get it out of his system.

Eddie sighs, arches, grabs Richie’s arse with both hands and drags him back down so that they’re rolling together again.

“Eddie,” Richie pants hot against his skin, almost delirious with lust. “Want you. Want you.”

Eddie squeezes and Richie and can feel the dull press of his nails even through his pants.

They’re moving faster now, the springs of Richie’s mattress creaking in complaint with every collision of their bodies. Richie is damp from the effort, can feel his t-shirt sticking to his back and beneath his arms, his whole body seared.

He’s nearly there when Eddie inhales sharply and slaps a hand over his mouth. Richie can feel him hold in his breath as the frantic movement of his lower half stutters, free hand gripping onto the waistband of Richie’s sweatpants for dear life.

Richie recognises what is happening and stills the violent thrust of his own pelvis, doesn’t want to overstimulate Eddie and force him to cry out, especially not with his parents sleeping soundly just down the hall.

They’re breathless together for a while.

Richie shakily shifts to his knees, palms for his glasses, knows this is something he’s gonna wanna see.

Boy, is he right. Eddie’s hand is still flat against his mouth, sweat sheened sticky against his forehead and doe-eyes blissed out on endorphins, but that isn’t the best part. The best part is the damp patch spreading out between Eddie’s legs, a stark outline against the cotton. 

He did that. Richie did that. Richie made that happen.

Richie’s cock throbs at just the mere realisation and he squeezes himself without a second thought.

Eddie’s eyes flicker with interest to Richie’s hand and they solidify with lucidity again. He reaches out to squeeze, too, and Richie, of course, lets him.

“Can I see?” whispers Eddie raspily, the first thing he’s said since they started.

Richie jerks his sweat pants down around his knees in a flash. His cock bounces up to attention, swollen and incredibly grateful for the freedom. Eddie’s hand wraps around it and Richie thinks he’s ascended to another plain of existence.

Eddie’s hand is dry as it strokes him, but Richie couldn’t care less because it’s _Eddie’s_ hand. 

Richie had been on the cusp of coming before Eddie had beat him to it, so it doesn’t take very long before his stomach is coiling up again, tighter and tighter. 

His breathing picks up, looks at Eddie’s hand on the most intimate part of him, looks at the come still seeping through Eddie’s pyjamas, looks at Eddie’s face watching the obscenity of his own actions with an intensity, with a want. He wants Richie. He wants to do this, he wants him, he wants-

Richie is coming, grunts a long, embarrassing noise as he does so. A new white stripe coats Eddie’s forearm with every ripple of pleasure, Richie’s hips rolling deeply with each new pang. He has never experienced such a satisfying orgasm before, dropping down onto his ankles once it was over.

He watches, dazed, as Eddie examines the mess Richie just made. He would have expected Eddie to be disgusted, but he just looks curious, smears a couple fingers through it.

Eddie sits up and a familiar feeling of dread settles over Richie. It’s similar to the guilt he usually feels after jerking it to torn out scraps of underwear models in his bedroom, only stronger, because this time a second party was involved. 

_Eddie_ was involved. The very same person who all Richie’s wet dreams are about. The same person he’s just coerced into his sick fantasies.

“Eds,” he says, anxious.

Richie isn’t expecting it when Eddie kisses him, sweet and brief, and then smiles. “We’re okay,” he promises, sounds like he means it.

His hair is ravished so Richie runs his fingers through it, pushes his little cowlick back from his forehead. It’s all Richie needs to make him feel better. “Okay.”

*

The next morning they don’t talk about it.

Maggie makes them breakfast, and once they’ve eaten, Eddie ties his laces in the hall whilst Richie hovers, slumped against the wall like he’s constantly nagged not to.

“See you Monday, Tozier,” he says when he’s done, strolls off Richie’s front porch like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

“See ya,” says Richie, shuts the door behind him.


End file.
